Back To A Time Long Since Forgotten
by haplesshippo
Summary: Given the task of changing Soul Society by the Soul King after being unfairly imprisoned by Central 46, Ichigo is sent back to a time where those who should have been dead are alive and devious plots are afoot. He has the potential to drive Soul Society's fate in a better, brighter direction, but whether he can make the correct choices is another matter entirely.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a little something I had stuck in my head. Not my usual fandom, but I do like Bleach (at least, everything before this bullshit Quincy Arc that seems to be dragging on and on) and I find the characters interesting. Also, using lines to separate scenes for the first time. Hopefully I won't accidentally screw something up.**

 **Please enjoy and review!**

* * *

It was dark, pitch black, like the gaping maws of some unknown, terrifying abyss. There was not a shred of light to alleviate the cold that seeped into Ichigo's bones. He wondered if there had ever been light before. If he had a mirror and some damn light, he would probably look like a vampire. Maybe just like Shirosaki.

"Would I turn into ashes if the sun touched my skin?" he asked out loud, just to check if his ears were still working. Other than the infernal _drip drip drip_ of some leaking pipe somewhere (and Ichigo was convinced it was a tactic to drive prisoners mad, since why the hell would anyone need pipes this deep under the earth?), there was no noise. Silence pressed all around him, oppressive and stifling. Maybe it was all in his head, he mused. Maybe he was imagining the sound of the air leaving his mouth.

If this _was_ all a tactic to make him insane, it was definitely working.

With a sigh, he dropped his head to where he thought his knee was and rested his cheek against it. It was hard to tell, with it being so dark and everything. The movement was accompanied by the sound of metal hitting metal, chains scraping at the Sekkiseki that his cell was made out of and clanging against each other. Ah, more noise. That was nice.

He wondered if Shiro would be making fun of him right now. He wondered if the Hollow would laugh at him in his unhinged way, demand a rematch of their most recent tussle (how long ago was that?), snarl at him to buck up and act like a King for once. He wondered if Zangetsu would remain impassive, giving advice at the most opportune times (never early, always on the edge of too late) and chiding mildly when Ichigo made mistakes.

Ichigo missed them. It was awfully empty in his own mind now.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the days when he was free. He recalled the soft falling of cherry blossoms as he, Inoue, Chad, and Ishida ate under the large tree that sprawled across the Karakura High School campus. He felt the rush of adrenaline as Kenpachi rushed him, mouth wide and bloodthirsty, and the nicks of small swords as Byakuya sparred with him, Bankai in full bloom. He smelled the fresh air, scented gently with the aromas wafting from the cups of tea as he relaxed with Ukitake and Kyouraku. He tasted the frost in the air as Hitsugaya fended off Matsumoto with waving arms and increasing ire.

But after all his memories passed, he was faced with empty silence and chilling black.

With a sigh, he scooted downwards from his seated position so that his arms, wasting because his chains restricted most movement, pillowed the back of his head. He didn't even know why he kept his eyes open anymore. It wouldn't have made a difference, anyways.

Ichigo closed his eyes and simply breathed. He did a routine search of his mind, hoping to find a trace of either Shiro or Zangetsu (negative to both), and rolled his shoulders. He became more tired more easily these days.

 _Traitor to Seireitei_ , ran unbidden through his mind. Ichigo frowned and tried to stop the flow of memories. Usually, he welcomed anything his mind conjured to entertain himself, but these memories he wanted to part of.

 _Traitor to Seireitei, dangerous to our continued existence, must be locked up and chained to prevent the risk of his powers being wielded against us,_ the voices continued, and Ichigo wanted to yell at them. However, his throat was hoarse from the minimal water that was slid into his room every so often. He didn't want to injure himself further.

 _His deeds have been a great help to Aizen's defeat, he will be spared of execution, life-long sentence in prison, isolated and quarantined,_ the words echoed around in his head, and Ichigo merely grit his teeth and beared with it. His fingers clenched, as if trying to remember the feel of his Zanpakuto, feel the heavy weight of Shiro's oversized Khyber knife in his right hand and the lighter but still lethal weight of Zangetsu's trench knife in his left.

 _Separated from his Zanpakuto to prevent mishaps, will receive treatment worthy of a hero_ , they had said. Indeed, treatment worthy of a hero this was, with no visitors and meager portions of food.

And when his mind decided to stop throwing painful memories to the forefront of his mind, Ichigo sighed and let sleep claim him.

* * *

When he awoke, nothing had changed at all. It was still dark, it was still silent, and Ichigo was still alive. His heart still beat, his blood still rushed through his veins. He breathed.

 _In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four._

He repeated this process several times before stretching his fingers. He clenched his hands and bent his arms, rolled his shoulders and lifted his head. He sat up and twisted his spine, bent his legs at the waist and stretched his toes.

This had become simple routine, as regular and ordinary as brushing his teeth and washing his face had been, back when there was warmth.

He yawned and let out a groan, just to test his voice, and blinked rapidly as if to brush away the permanent blanket of black that stretched across his eyes. He reached his hand upwards, up to his head, and grimaced when he felt his hair brushing his shoulders. His hair was long overdue for a cut. In fact, so would his fingernails have been if he hadn't been scraping them across stone regularly. No doubt they were also bloodied, but he couldn't see, and it didn't really matter. His wrists, neck, and ankles were also probably not in the best condition considering that the chains were attached there. The pain was a comfort, really. It proved that he was still human, that he could still feel sensations and not just the numb cold.

Wounds no longer healed as rapidly, not with his Reiatsu cut off and leashed, bound tightly within his body. Not a single thread of power escaped his skin.

He sat for a while, lost in idle thoughts and darkness. He tapped his fingers to an unknown beat, some forgotten rhythm that may have belonged to a song long ago.

 _Tap tap tap_.

He'd tried singing, once, but with only his own voice filling the cavern, the loneliness of the situation was amplified, and he'd quickly stopped.

 _Tap tap tap._ _Drip drip drip._

He timed his tapping to the falling of the drops of water from the pipe that served no purpose this deep down underneath the roads of Seireitei. Maybe he should have become a drummer. Maybe, if he'd been a drummer, he wouldn't be stuck down here. Maybe, if he'd been a drummer, he would have been away at practice when Rukia had conveniently dropped by his house. Maybe he wouldn't have been involved, and maybe Rukia would have-

There was no point in wondering about the 'what ifs'. What was done was done, and nothing was going to change the past. Speculation about the past would not help him out of this prison cell. Wondering would do nothing.

 _"But if you could go back in time, Kurosaki-kun, would you seize the opportunity to change the past?"_

Ichigo's fingers froze. He heard nothing, not the dripping of the pipe nor the mysterious voice again. He hadn't realized how comforting the useless pipe had been until the persistent noise had ceased. A pity.

Maybe he really was going insane. Last time he checked, hearing voices wasn't a sign of a healthy mind. But then again, he'd been sharing his head space with two other beings up until a while ago. Maybe he'd been insane the whole time.

 _"I should hope not. I'm depending on you to change Seireitei and save the Spirit World."_

"Who's there?" Ichigo asked. His voice rasped against the still air like rough sandpaper. He cleared his throat. And here he was, talking to some voice that was neither male nor female, neither low nor high. The voice almost sounded as if there were thousands of people talking together, like the buzzing of a hive of bees.

 _"You're not talking to_ nothing _. I am the Spirit King."_

Ichigo was not convinced.

"Is this another attempt to drive me crazy? Because that dripping pipe was effective enough, thank you, and I kind of want it back," he called out, by now slightly irritated. Oh, he'd forgotten what irritation had felt like too. How odd. When was the last time he'd felt any emotion other than apathy?

 _"It is not, Kurosaki-kun. I am, despite your suspicions, the Spirit King, and I have a request to make of you."_

Well, Ichigo might as well amuse the voice. He didn't know if it really was the Spirit King talking to him or if his bored mind was playing a particularly cruel and elaborate prank on him, but he'd play along.

"And what's the request?"

There was a slight hesitation, almost as if the voice was deliberating the best way to word whatever it was going to say.

 _"Central 46 has grown corrupt,"_ the voice replied. _"They have become blinded, drunk on power, and unwilling to release the reigns gripped tightly in their fist. I used to command them, but it has been a long time they have heeded my word._

 _"The Gotei 13 has become weak under Central 46's hands. The Human World has been progressing, and even the Shinigami have been stepping forwards, discovering new boundaries to their power. Even if some discoveries have been dangerous, change is inevitable. However, Seireitei is not, and they smite anyone who dares breathe a word against them. Even today, they are rigid in their laws, and they suppress those who are unique, who may contribute to the continued welfare of Soul Society._

 _"I hope you, Kurosaki Ichigo, as both a force of change as well as a victim yourself, will change Soul Society, save it before it collapses on itself. I propose a deal. I will take you back in time to change Soul Society, to take actions where actions had not been taken and make decisions that nobody had dared to make. In exchange, I want you to lead Soul Society away from what it has become today. Will you take my offer, Kurosaki Ichigo?"_

The voice paused, its speech done. Silence reigned again, uncomfortable in Ichigo's ears. He shifted his chains to generate any amount of noise and fill the silence, but once he stilled again, it was back.

He huffed a laugh. "Do I even have a choice? It's either take your deal or stay down here, isn't it?"

 _"Unfortunately, it is. However, I would like to think that you still do this out of your own free will and the goodness of your heart."_

"You want me to protect the Soul Society that's imprisoned me," Ichigo asked flatly, more a statement than a question.

 _"No, I want you to protect the Soul Society that_ should _be, not what it has become. I want you to give them a second chance."_

Ichigo didn't even need a heartbeat to respond. He had known the answer the moment the Soul King had put the offer on the table.

After all, he was Kurosaki Ichigo, the man who had broken into Seireitei, the man who had invaded Hueco Mundo and rescued Orihime, who had trained with Vizards and fought beside Arrancar. Of course he'd give a second chance. He'd give a third and a fourth and a fifth if he had to, for his friends and family.

"Did you even need to ask? You seem to know me well enough, you should know my answer," he responded, voice light.

There was a laugh, the thousands of voices that united into the Soul King's buzzing before it died down.

 _"I just wanted your consent. I wish you luck, and I pray that you will make the correct choices."_

And with a burst of light, white and painful in Ichigo's eyes, the world dissolved around him in pieces. The darkness shattered, and with it, his consciousness.

* * *

 ** _"King! Oi, King, wake yer lazy ass up! Hey, I'm talkin' ta ya, I know you can hear me ya bastard!"_**

"Shut up, Shiro," Ichigo muttered, trying to bury his face in his pillow. Something in the back of his mind nagged him (that might have just been Shiro asking for attention, actually, so it was totally justifiable to ignore it), but he merely rolled over and wrenched a blanket around his shoulders.

…on second thought, there was something very, very wrong with this situation.

He abruptly sat up and hissed when sunlight streamed through the window by his bed and hit his face. His head pounded like he'd drunk too much the previous night, and his limbs ached like he'd tried fighting off all ten Espada at once.

He heard the chirping of birds and the soft murmurs of passerby filtering through his window. The sunlight was warm against his skin, sinking into his bones and filling him with a kind of contentment that he'd forgotten. He smelled…well, he wasn't sure exactly what he'd smelled, but he smelled something, and it most definitely wasn't a cell deep underneath the ground.

He felt _alive_.

 ** _"Yer finally awake!"_**

Shiro's voice jolted Ichigo, and a smile rose unbidden across his lips.

"Shiro," he greeted, and joy soared through his heart. He would bet a million yen that his inner world wasn't raining. "Zangetsu."

 **Here, Ichigo.**

He laughed, and even if he sounded like death warmed over, he laughed with his whole body. It felt wonderful to be alive again, to be here in…

He blinked suddenly, and he furrowed his brows. Huh. Where exactly _was_ he?

Ichigo scanned the room but saw nothing he recognized. The room was simple, made out of wood. He laid on a bed with weathered but washed sheets, thin and full of holes from extended use. The same could have been said for his clothes. They were threadbare but clean, a simple brown shirt and pants held onto his thin waist by a length of rope. There was a door that led outside, and from the window, he could see children playing in the street and adults conversing quietly.

Beside the bed, he saw with no small amount of relief, was his Zanpakuto, within arm's distance. It was leaning against the wall, and with careful movements, he reached out his fingers and brushed it against the scabbard. Reiatsu flowed through his fingers.

"I'm back," he whispered.

 **Welcome back, Ichigo.**

 ** _Tch, took ya long enough, King._**

With the thin, black katana in his hands, he extended his senses like he'd been taught once, felt out potential dangers. There were soft glows scattered throughout his sweep, but nothing big, nothing particularly dangers. He drew in his impressive Reiatsu again (and even exercising his control felt awesome, feeling that rush of power that had been absent during his imprisonment) and wrestled it under control.

Memories welled in his mind, and he sorted through them carefully. _Change the past,_ the Spirit King had said. Ichigo could assume that he was in the past, but how far in the past? Where was he? Not the Human World, unless the Spirit King had thrown him back to the feudal eras. Which Ichigo really hoped was not the case.

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood slowly, carefully. His legs were weak, and he wobbled dangerously a few times. He winced as he stretched out kinks that he hadn't been able to stretch chained to a wall, and he twisted his back in a gentle side-to-side motion. He picked up Zangetsu and weighed it carefully before tucking it into rope belt around his pants. With careful, measured motions that strengthened with continued repetition, he strode to the door and opened it.

There was a woman sitting in the kitchen, knife in one hand and a block of wood in the other. Shavings littered the area around her workplace. At the sound of the door opening, the woman glanced up, and her eyes crinkled when she spotted him.

"Ah, you're awake!" The woman set down the whittling knife and wood and stood to brush off wood shavings. "I'm glad to see you up."

Ichigo returned the smile with a small quirk of his lips. The woman seemed friendly, with a wide face littered with lines of laughter.

"Thanks. Er, where am I?" he asked as he glanced around the room.

He seemed to have entered a living room. A table was placed in the center, with other wooden figurines carefully laid on top of it. Some were in a basket, some standing proudly. Windows were opened to let in fresh air, crisp with the edge of humidity that accompanied summer. There was a door that led to another room and another door that obviously led outside.

"You're in Rukongai, District 71, dear," the woman answered. "I found you right on the edges on the district. You seemed exhausted, so I brought you here. I hope you've recovered?"

"Yeah. Thanks for taking care of me." Curiously, Ichigo observed that there was no kitchen in the house.

"It was no problem at all!" The woman sat back down, and her attention returned to her carving. Her hands were strong and deft, chipping off larger chunks of wood and gouging little lines that would take the shape of whatever she desired. "I have to admit, though, I was surprised. It's not often that I find a Shinigami collapsed on the side of the road since you had a sword, but you weren't wearing the Shihakusho, so I was brought you and your Zanpakuto back here. My name's Kyoko, by the way, and this is my home."

"My name is Ichigo." He gave her a warm smile. She reminded him of Yuzu with her mothering tendency and constant chatter. He welcomed it.

Unfortunately, as much as he enjoyed her company, he was given a mission, and there were things to do, things to prevent from happening. He had no idea how to go about doing anything, but he had always been the kind to think on his feet. He'd think of something.

But first…

"I'm not part of the Gotei 13." Kyoko's shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension. It seemed the Gotei 13 weren't well received out here, despite the old lady's care for him. "I'm looking to join them, though. Have any ideas?"

The woman stopped her whittling, and she looked at him. The cheer seemed to drain away, and she became serious.

"Seireitei is a dangerous place." Kyoko began, face somewhat grave. "I understand that you young ones have your dreams, but Shinigami are sometimes brutal. To be honest, we hold no fond feelings for them. I took you in because I could not overlook a suffering, starving young man."

He took a chair as well and faced her. "I know that it's dangerous, but it's where I need to be."

She gazed at him. She seemed to be looking for answers, for resolve and determination, for weakness and failings. Ichigo couldn't help but feel like she was measuring his character and making judgements, so he put on his strongest front. He gazed determinedly back, with the same willpower that he'd had when facing down Aizen. He didn't know why Kyoko's approval mattered so much to him, but he wanted her to understand that he had a mission, that he was sent back for a reason.

She leaned back in her chair, satisfied, and resumed her carving. He felt like he'd passed some kind of test.

"Very well. If that's what you want, then I have no right to stop you," she said at length. "However, you should still wait. After all, you have several months until the Shinigami come around with their promotional campaign," and here, bitterness seeped into her tone, "so you can sign up for the Shinigami Academy then. You'll have to undergo an entrance exam, but place well and you'll get in."

Ichigo nodded. "Do you know anywhere I can stay?"

Kyoko looked at him in surprise and some amount of offense. "Just because I don't particularly enjoy Shinigami company doesn't mean I'm kicking you out. Feel free to stay here."

Ichigo wasn't the kind to deny an opportunity handed to him on a silver platter without good reason. He quirked another grin that strained weirdly at his face (how long had it been since he'd smiled?) before giving up on the facial expression altogether. He'd have to get stronger anyways, rebuild muscle and practice his swordsmanship. He probably looked like a starving dog just picked off the streets. Which he actually was, upon further thought.

"Thank you very much," he gave a shallow bow out of gratitude. It was true that he wasn't one to abide by normal social customs of kowtowing to superiors, but he did show respect where needed and gratitude where deserved. And Kyoko deserved his thanks.

"It's no problem at all." Kyoko's eyes glinted, the first sign of any kind of devious intentions that she'd displayed. "However, I expect you to work for your stay. You need to get stronger, yes? You can start by bringing me firewood."

"I knew there was a reason you wanted me to stay." Ichigo stood and rolled his shoulders. "Just point me in the direction, and I'll do it."

* * *

Days passed, and the temperature grew hotter as the air grew muggier. Ichigo learned where it was best to gather firewood, where along the river that passed through District 71 had the best fishing spots, where to find the best pieces of wood for carving. He jogged every morning right at daybreak up and down the river, practiced his swordsmanship both outside and inside his mind ( ** _Ya got rusty, King. Better dodge quick or ya won't have an arm ta swing with anymore!_** ), and went through several katas that Byakuya had hammered into his head at one point in time.

He helped out Kyoko and bantered with her as she carved little wooden animals to sell, spread out her wares at the local market every weekend and helped her carry baskets and quilts back and forth. The villagers around him had come to recognize him, and although wary at first of the Zanpakuto that hung around his waist, they soon warmed up enough to him to ask him with several errands, whether it was repairing a roof or mending furniture.

It was tough, at first. Ichigo was weak, he was hungry, and he could only stand to exercise not even an hour. His skin was pasty white, and his hair was long, brushing his shoulders is spikes. A knife and Kyoko's gentle hands took care of that problem quickly. He spent any time he could outside, and when he was too tired to continue on with his activities, he just rested on the grassy slope that led down to the river, reveling in the summer air and the sun beating down on his skin. Sunburns were inevitable, but Ichigo had a newfound appreciation for the outdoors, and he wasn't going to give it up easily.

As he'd thought, the skin around his neck, wrists, and ankles were scarred from the shackles that had rubbed against his skin and torn it open, and when they'd healed and the scabs had fallen off, they were pigmented with a skin tone a shade lighter than the rest of his body. The first time he'd stripped his shirt and was left in only his pants, he'd taken stock of his body. There were more scars, little nicks and burns from previous battles. There, on his arm, was a raised, jagged line that ran down from shoulder to elbow as a result from a particularly wily Hollow, a wound that Orihime hadn't gotten to in time. On his left side was a dark patch from when he'd eaten a point-blank cero. And on his back…

Well, Ichigo didn't like to look at his back. It was a good thing it wasn't a place he could easily see.

Once, when the day was winding down and Ichigo was done with his chores, he'd sat down with grilled fish in the middle of Kyoko's living room without his shirt on. It was obnoxiously hot outside, and the house only provided a small respite from the heat.

"Ichigo-kun," Kyoko said, and when Ichigo looked up at her, he saw not her usual cheery and mischievous attitude but rather a concerned furrow in her brows and pursed lips. She was staring at his chest.

Ichigo scowled immediately and turned towards his food. "Can I claim amnesia?"

The old woman had stared at him, assessing and probing, before relenting.

It was the last time either had broached the subject. Ichigo made sure to wear a shirt at all times afterwards to prevent more uncomfortable questions.

It wasn't as if Ichigo was _ashamed_ of his scars. He wasn't proud of them, either. They just existed as a testament to his past, to his pain and his strength. He didn't mind like talking about them to his friends, back in the future, but having to bother explain that they came from a war that had not passed yet was not high on his list. In fact, talking about his past ranked very, very low on his list. Nobody could know where he came from. If even one person heard whisper of a rumor, and that rumor made its way to important ears, he'd have a much harder time trying to change the future.

Unfortunately, the scars weren't all physical.

Occasionally, once every two weeks, Ichigo would jolt awake in cold sweat. Dreams of blood dripping from his fingernails and sneaking out from underneath his collar, without a single beam of light entering his cell. Dreams of the blackest of black, where even a monster hiding in the dark would have been more comforting than nothing. Dreams where the only sound was made by his own heartbeat and that stead _drip drip drip_. Dreams where he could not feel even a drop of Reiatsu in his body, with nothing but cold emptiness, a hollow core that would remain hollow until the damn shackles left his limbs. He always made sure to have his window open at night, no matter how hot it was, because it would remind him, when he woke up in blind terror and not knowing where exactly he was, that he was not imprisoned in Muken anymore. He was here, above ground, where there was light and sound and living things.

And so, Ichigo became stronger so that there would be a future where he wouldn't _have_ to experience such a thing just because he had a little too much Hollow in him. There was nobody to spar with, so he practiced releasing his Shikai and Bankai safely away from civilization, worked on his Shunpo and nearly nonexistent Kido. Zangetsu was particularly helpful these days, when Ichigo was doing something wrong and the Zanpakuto spirit would correct him gently.

Then one day, he heard a yell, and he knew that he had an even longer road to walk than just retraining himself.

"Recruiting Shinigami to serve the Gotei 13! Come serve the forces that protect Soul Society and uphold its peace and prosperity, the forces that keep Hollows at bay and maintain the natural order of the world!"

All propaganda and utter lies, Ichigo thought somewhat sourly. Having had to live in District 71, practically untouched by Shinigami influence, where there was rampant violence, Ichigo's view of Seireitei had fallen greatly. It wasn't that high in the first place, but seeing everything first hand was always different than hearing things by ear.

Regardless, he made his way towards the approaching group of Shinigami. His muscles slid powerfully underneath his skin, which was back to its healthy bronze before his imprisonment. Without sparring against an actual opponent, Ichigo couldn't tell where exactly he was in terms of strength, but he expected that he was only slightly below where he'd been before imprisonment.

Ichigo stopped in front of the approaching Shinigami. He didn't care about their promotional crap, nor did he care particularly what they had to say in favor of the Gotei 13. All he needed was to sign up for the entrance exams for the Shinigami Academy, and he'd be set.

"Hey, I want to join," he said calmly, grabbing their attention. The Shinigami puffed up with pride, as if they were the best of the best, the crème of the crop. Ichigo scoffed. He could defeat them blindfolded with both arms tied behind his back.

After business was done (Ichigo had to restrain himself multiple times from bashing their inflated heads into the ground the entire time with a disgusted expression) and the Shinigami had left, Ichigo returned to Kyoko's.

She sat in her usual spot, sanding over some of her wares. He cocked his head as he sat down.

"Need any help with that, baa-chan?" Without needed any prompt, he grabbed another figurine, one of a lion, and began sanding its back. He looked up when he heard no protest to the way he had called her. Usually she would slap his head or order him to call her something younger.

Ichigo was surprised to see that she was tearing up.

"O-oi, what's wrong?" he asked frantically, dropping the lion. He was at a complete loss in what to do with crying people. He'd stopped crying after his mom died, and whenever his younger sisters felt down, the comforted each other. He panicked.

Kyoko gave a sniff and a wet laugh. "Nothing's wrong, Ichigo-kun. It's just, you're leaving soon, aren't you?"

Ichigo quieted his frantic movements and gazed at her. She was focused on her work, but even Ichigo could see that she wasn't seeing what she was doing. After all, the poor cat's head had long since smoothed, and instead she was sanding away a part of the thing's ear. Kyoko would either be selling an earless cat or throwing it away.

"I am," he replied quietly. He only set a hand on her hands, to stop her nervous rubbing and to save the cat from a worse fate than the loss of an ear. "I'll be leaving for the entrance exam in three days."

Kyoko stared at his hands covering hers, calloused from the work he'd been doing for the past couple of months. She smiled gently and shifted one of her hands out from underneath his, smoother and smaller in comparison, and laid a cool palm on top of his.

"I have to say, Ichigo-kun, that these months were some of the best ones I've experienced," she said sweetly. "I appreciate all that you've done, and even if you're going off to become a Shinigami, I do hope you'll visit sometime."

Kyoko presented him with the cat she had been sanding. The ear was gone, but it was cute, in a rough way. Its two eyes took up more than half its face, as if pleading for food. A tail curled around its paws and chubby body. It wasn't her best work, but both Kyoko and Ichigo knew that it wasn't the quality of the work that made it valuable. He took it and cradled it in his palms lightly.

"Thank you for all you've done for me, baa-chan." Ichigo quirked a smile less stiffly than when he'd first arrived. "I'll try."

"You better," the elder threatened, and a spark lit in her eyes. Ichigo knew that she'd be all right, then. It would take a lot to down an old lady like her. "Or else."

Ichigo laughed.

A week later, he set the carved wooden cat on the desk in his small room at the Shinigami Academy. He gazed at it before sighing and rolling onto his bed with a tired huff.

And so it began.

* * *

 **Sincerely yours,**

 **haplessgrapefrut**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I would like to apologize. First off, yes, this was very heavily inspired by cywscross's Swinging Pendulum. I realized when I woke up that I was quite blatantly copying her idea (since I wrote this in the wee hours and I was just really excited to get this out). The title is eerily similar to hers, so I changed it, not to disguise the fact that I drew from her fanfic but to distance this fic from hers. However, this fic _will_ be different plot-wise. I have no idea where she was going with hers, so I guess I wanted to continue it in my own way. Secondly, if she contacts me to remove this fanfic or there is overwhelming demand from you guys for me to, I will do so immediately. I understand the ramifications of plagiarism, and the fact that I posted this without attributing her work is a grave mistake on my part.**

 **I am very sorry to both you readers and cywscross, but I would like to continue writing this. I used her idea as a premise and not as a determinant for the rest of my plot. I've always been a fan of time-travel fics, and hers was the best I'd read in the Bleach fandom.**

 **On the other hand, if you've never read her works, I do highly suggest you visit cywscross's page. She's a fantastic writer and absolutely stunning in her works and depictions of its characters.**

 **Thank you for your patience, and enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Ichigo had been placed in the first class, a supposedly special accelerated class for gifted students. He snorted as he strapped Zangetsu onto his back. He'd _better_ have been an accelerated student. After all, three years of war experience and the death of a megalomaniac to his name should have placed him immediately as at least a lieutenant. Unfortunately, it wasn't as if he could just pull his past out randomly like a bunny out of a hat, so here he was, in the academy dorms, doing everything the long way. Six years of schooling. The last time he'd sat in a classroom and learned was in high school.

He supposed it was a good thing. It would give him a chance to gather information, scope out the current captains and where he would have to focus his attention on. He still didn't know when exactly he was, and the only way he could get a bearing on the timeline was if he knew who held power at the time.

He gave his room for the next year a cursory glance, eyes lingering on the wooden cat for luck before entering the dorm hallways. Students of different years bustled back and forth, some heading to breakfast, others walking back from a light morning warm up. Ichigo winced as Shinigami brushed past him.

Ever since his imprisonment, he tended to avoid crowds at all cost. Even before then, Ichigo was a solitary person with only his close friends sticking by him. He didn't like it when there were different Reiatsu signatures pressing at him on all sides, when different sounds forced him to filter through unnecessary voices to noises that might be important, when there were various personalities crowding his vision. Now, it seemed his preference for peace had been amplified. After getting used to the quiet of only his own mind to accompany him, he found that he preferred it that way. Too many people set him on edge and made him hyper-aware of motions and sounds. He couldn't escape the cafeteria more quickly.

Once he'd escaped the confining space, he walked a ways from the building complex towards a single tree. It provided shade from the sun but allowed enough of the sun's warmth to seep through the leaves and brush his skin. He settled down at its roots and opened the bento he'd hastily retrieved from the cafeteria and sat on it.

Here he was. He chewed on his pickled cucumber slowly, reveling in the taste. Even now, several months after Muken, taste was something he could appreciate. The sourness and faintly sweet traces were so different from the bland rice and water he'd received every day back then.

He paused before feeling embarrassment creep up on him. He was suddenly incredibly grateful that nobody could read minds (they couldn't, _could they?_ ). The pickles tasted good, but he didn't want anyone else knowing that he was rambling about how good they were exactly in his mind.

After finishing his breakfast, he stood to toss out the disposable bento and make his way towards his first class.

His first class was with Onabara Gengorou, the chief instructor for the accelerated class. He was a large man, tanned and bald with severe eyebrows and thick lips. However, as off-putting as his appearance was, Onabara proved to be very efficient in his teachings.

Ichigo leaned on his hand and took notes diligently, although he knew most of the information about the theory being told from the front of the classroom. He was better in the practical application of skills, but that didn't mean he didn't know theory. It'd been beaten into his head by Kisuke and Rukia (with her weird Chappy drawings) multiple times. If he hadn't remembered them back then, then he might have been dead several times.

Class was, although interesting, mostly uneventful. Save a few stray facts that Ichigo hadn't known before (apparently Reiatsu signature was correspondent with one's personality; he wondered what his black and red Reiatsu said about him), he was bored to tears. Class ended with a dismissal as well as an assignment of the basic concepts discussing in class, and Ichigo rose and prepared to leave.

"Hey, you're Ichigo, right?"

Ichigo paused, and something akin to dread crept over him. He was in the past, _nobody_ should have known who he was. How did anyone know his name?

He glanced over his shoulder casually to see a presence that was very, very surprising. Although it really shouldn't have been, considering he didn't know _when_ in the past he was, he was still taken-aback at the familiar face he encountered.

"Yeah," he replied gruffly. "You need something?"

Even with the shorter hair (it was short, _it only reached his shoulders what happened?!_ ) and slightly younger features, Rose's presence was unmistakable. He wore the academy uniform with his Zanpakuto tucked into his obi. He seemed disinterested with the rush of students around him and focused his eyes, lazy and drooping, on Ichigo. His Reiatsu signature was still familiar, and Ichigo allowed himself to bask in it for a second before pulling his awareness back to the situation before him. He couldn't let anyone know, he couldn't slip or falter.

This was a perfect opportunity to get into the heart of events. Even as Ichigo's heart seized painfully and flashes of memories, of deaths ( _there was blood matting the golden hair, a nasty red gash across his chest and was that a tooth on the ground yes it was, his face wasn't even recognizable anymore_ ) tried to seize his attention, he shoved it all into the back of his mind with the bullheadedness that was frequently associated with him.

Rose scratched the back of his head, disinterested. He glanced aside and seemed reluctant to continue whatever he'd called out Ichigo's name for. The shorter man decided to help him out.

"How'd you know my name?" he asked, turning back around and walking to his next class. His clear invitation for Rose to walk beside him wasn't missed, and the larger man hurried to Ichigo's side.

"Your name stood out when Onabara was going through roll-call, since you didn't have a last name to go with it." Rose stared straight ahead as if he didn't want to acknowledge him. Was there a pride issue going on? Ichigo sighed.

He wasn't an expert in navigating the social scene. That was always left up to whoever was with him, and during the war, there wasn't a need to have to talk to anyone. After all, niceties and pleasantries were lost on everyone in the middle of hacking down Hollows, and all that mattered in the end was relaying orders or warnings.

Ichigo could try, though. He undoubtedly had to know how to _talk_ to people for kami's sake if he wanted to change whatever it was the Soul King wanted him to change.

"What's your name, then?" he asked, but even his ears could tell that the casualness of the question sounded forced. Eh, he'd work on it.

After a somewhat grudging pause in which the pair had reached their Hohou class, Ichigo was fully prepared to leave Rose behind. Past acquaintance or no, if Rose hadn't even wanted to associate with him, then he wouldn't force the taller man to. He had strode ahead when the other Shinigami spoke.

"Otoribashi Roujuurou. Call me Rose, though."

Ichigo reached the courtyard where they were supposed to be starting to learn (or review, in Ichigo's case) the basics of the Shunpo.

"Then what are you waiting for? Let's go, Rose." With a jerk of his head that was a clear order to follow, Ichigo found a seat in the middle of the lecture hall and sat down. There was shuffling and some scuffing of feet before Rose pulled out the chair beside him and also sat. "So, did you need something?"

Trust Ichigo to cut to the chase. He didn't like it when other people clouded their intentions with fluff.

"You seemed bored in the last class," Rose started. Ichigo almost thought that was all he was going to say. "You know what you're doing, even as a first-year, right?"

Ichigo snorted indelicately. "Yeah. They're easy concepts."

"Want to work on the assignment?"

Ichigo wasn't the kind to tease others about their weaknesses. If Rose needed help with theory, then he needed help with theory. Ichigo wasn't going to turn down someone who asked for his help, and Rose clearly was reluctant to even reach out for it in the first place. Why Ichigo, he hadn't the faintest clue, but if it was an opportunity to get close to one of the key players in events that were to come, then he'd take it.

He wondered briefly if he was acting like Aizen, plotting out his moves and seeing the value of people instead of the people for who they were instead. He shook that thought off rather quickly. Perhaps he did, but did it matter? The two clearly had different goals, and Ichigo was hardly going to throw away someone in his path towards changing Soul Society.

"Sure," he responded.

And that was how Ichigo made his first friend at the academy.

* * *

Practical classes, unlike lectures, divided the class into smaller groups with individual instructors. Ichigo could see the sense in that, since it would have been hard for a single instructor to keep track of two hundred Shinigami attempting to knock each other out with bokken.

Twist, dodge, duck, and _there_.

With a deft movement, Ichigo reached forwards and tapped the edge of his wooden sword on the side of his opponent's neck.

"Yield."

His opponent sighed and dropped his own bokken. With a shadow of disappointment, Rose raised both of his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

 ** _Booooring. King, lemme out to play._**

 _You and I both know how bad an idea that is._

But despite Shiro's constant complains ( ** _King, it's boring. King, the sky's getting' cloudier. King, let's find a_ real _enemy and beat tha shit outta them._** _Shut_ up _, Shiro!_ ), Ichigo _was_ somewhat bored.

He withdrew his own bokken before glancing at his disheveled sparring partner. His body screamed for a full on fight, for a battle where he wouldn't have to be careful of breaking his opponent's bones or worry about knocking them down purely by the force of his Reiatsu. He wanted to spar against a Captain, but he knew that, at this point in time, the prospect was virtually impossible. He wasn't sure who, exactly, were the Captains, but he remembered faintly that Ukitake and Kyouraku should have been Captains at this point in time.

( _Blood splattering the ground as the Thirteenth Division's Captain was wracked with an attack of coughs that was enough of an opening for the Arrancar to thrust his sword through the white haired man's throat. Fury, grief, all-consuming rage as a pink haori fluttered to the ground and burning Reiatsu swept across the battlefield, incinerating the weaker Hollows on the spot._ )

He shook his head and turned to his practice partner, raising his bokken in challenge.

"Again."

Ichigo had discovered several things about Rose during their few weeks of acquaintance. Rose was seemingly lackadaisical, putting on apathetic airs to anyone who glanced his way. He completed his assignments well enough, but Ichigo found that Rose really had needed some help with the theories presented in class. However, the younger Shinigami was tactful enough to avoid pointing it out.

On the other hand, even if Rose seemed to not care about anything, there was a hint of the passionate man beneath his exterior, the man who sparkled at the mention of music and waxed poetic about romantic ideals. Ichigo wasn't sure how to draw out this character.

Rose was proactive enough to ask for spars and help but prideful enough to avoid making it seem like he needed a favor. Ichigo was grateful on some level to learn about someone he hadn't been particularly close to before.

And that led to the question: Where was Love?

In Ichigo's mind, Love and Rose had always been together, if not romantically, then at least as platonic life partners. Where one spouted romantic nonsense, the other grounded him with a slap to the head. Where one obsessively read manga, the other spent his time strumming his guitar and waiting patiently for the plot of the manga to develop. They'd been inseparable, never far from each other. So…where was Love?

It turned out that Ichigo really hadn't needed to look far. Only the next day, Ichigo spotted an afro that made him pause and stare, mouth slightly agape. Last time he'd seen an afro that big, it was in pictures of people in America from the 1960s. It was slightly disconcerting to see the same hairstyle here in Seireitei.

Ichigo glanced between Love's receding back and Rose, who was staring aimlessly outside as they headed to lunch. He wracked his brains for exactly _how_ he was going to get the two to interact, because it was just plain weird to see them so separated. With a small irritated huff, he grabbed hold of Rose's sleeve ("Hey, what're you doing?") and dragged him forwards. Love seemed alone, thankfully, so, true to his nature, he introduced himself with all the subtlety of a rampaging elephant.

"Oi, you."

Love turned around, startled and someone disapproving of how he'd been called out.

"Me?" he asked, pointing a finger at himself. Thank every single deity that at least the darker man knew how to socialize, unlike both Ichigo and Rose.

"Yeah. You're heading to lunch, right?" Ichigo asked and practically shoved Rose at the other man. Rose stumbled before straightening, looking thoroughly offended at the way he'd been manhandled. Ichigo didn't quite care. Rose and Love were going to become friends, and they were going to _like_ it. "This is Rose. I'm Ichigo, nice to meet you."

To say that Love was very, very surprised and confused at why, exactly, two first years had decided to approach a third year and introduce themselves was an understatement. However, Love was a more accommodating man and actually knew how to navigate the social scene, so he nodded to both a scowling Ichigo and annoyed Rose.

"My name's Aikawa Rabu, but everyone calls me Love."

And that, for some reason, was what got Rose's attention. No, it wasn't the giant afro, nor was it the sunglasses perched on the other man's nose. It was his _name_. Ichigo didn't quite understand Rose's obsession with names (first he remember Ichigo because he didn't have a last one, and now he was interested in Love because of his?), but he left them to it.

"My name's actually Otoribashi Roujuurou, but I prefer Rose. It's much more…stylistic." Rose scrunched his nose at his given name and flipped his hair flamboyantly, reminiscent of the Rose Ichigo had known. Rose had always preferred aesthetics and the deep meaning of seemingly shallow things, like names or song lyrics.

Love shrugged but chuckled. "People call me Love just because it sounds like my real name. No real reason, really."

The blond frowned. "There's a deeper meaning to every name if you just search for it."

 _There is,_ Ichigo thought, longingly and fondly with the same pang of pain that always accompanied his thoughts these days. Protector. It was what his mother had meant his name to mean (no matter how many times Yachiru had called him Strawberry-tan or Icchi), and Ichigo had always taken her gift to him to heart. Protector of friends, comrades, allies, and now, it seemed, all of Soul Society.

"Ichigo, right?"

Ichigo grunted, glancing at Love. The dark haired man was peering at him over his sunglasses contemplatively.

"Yeah," Ichigo responded as they reached the cafeteria. He winced at the large crowd clambering to get their bento. Such a large crowd and barely any way to avoid it.

Rose, it seemed, actually had been paying attention to Ichigo to some amount for the past couple of weeks. With a put-upon sigh and exaggerated exasperation, he maneuvered between the students. "I'll get your bentos."

"Thanks, Rose," Ichigo called, and Rose merely waved his hand dismissively. As apathetic as the musician was, it seemed Ichigo had grown on him.

(He had that effect on people, growing on them. It was a fact he was still hilariously unaware of and everybody who got to know him knew of.)

"Why do you only have one name?"

The question made Ichigo tilt his head at the other Shinigami beside him. Love was staring at another point in the cafeteria, as if to take the pressure of answering a potentially delicate question off of Ichigo. He was grateful.

"I don't remember much of my past," he replied, the story ready on his lips. It was utterly false, but it wasn't like Ichigo could just say, 'I'm from the future, but I can't let anybody know that I'm from the future, so the best way to stop anyone from drawing connections would be to pretend I have amnesia and only have one name. Oh, can I have your pickles, by the way?' Yeah, no, that most probably wouldn't go over so well. In the best case scenario, he'd be called delusional and crazy. In the worst case, well, the Twelfth Division would welcome him with open arms. There was no way he was going anywhere where he'd be confined again. Muken was enough, thank you very much. "I just remember my first name."

Love took his word for it, and some tension bled from Ichigo's shoulders.

When Rose returned with the bentos, Ichigo took his gratefully, and they made their way to the tree he'd sat at the first day of the academy.

* * *

Ichigo should have expected it, really, but as they say, hindsight is twenty twenty.

"Ichigo-san, stay behind for a bit please."

He whipped his head up in surprise when Onobara called his name. He frowned, positive that he hadn't done anything worth being in trouble for. He turned his assignments with Rose, performed above average in all his practical classes, and aced his tests. He hadn't skipped classes (which was much better than he could claim in his high school days) and hadn't mouthed off to any higher ups that could report him.

Rose clapped him on the shoulder, friendlier after meeting Love. He'd opened up a bit, less stay-away-from-me vibes and more I'm-just-an-awkward-soul-overly-concerned-with-metaphysical-thoughts. Well, he'd opened up to Ichigo and Love. He was still kind of an apathetic bastard to everyone else.

"I'll see you tomorrow," the blond said before waving carelessly over his shoulder and departing.

The students slowly leaked out of the classroom. Ichigo leaned back in his seat and waited for the last straggling students, some chattering and others asking Onobara for advice, left the room. He stood and organized his notes, stuffed them in his bag, and made his way down the stairs towards the front of the lecture hall.

"You needed me?" he asked, and Onobara raised an eyebrow at the blatant show of disrespect. However, he let it go in favor of something more important.

"Tell me, have you ever had any additional training?" The larger Shinigami clasping his hands behind his back and raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Your test scores are close to perfect, and you excel in all of the practical parts of class."

Ichigo froze but forced himself to relax. It was impossible for Onobara to know anything about him, about the future or Ichigo's past.

"No, I haven't," he responded. "And last time I checked, I don't exactly excel in Kidou."

Onobara waved away the criticism with a large paw. "You don't, but you're further ahead than most students are. You've got the theory down, you just need to refine your control. And honestly, you can graduate the academy with the Kidou marks you've got down now."

This was news to Ichigo. He'd always been under the assumption that he had to have at least a basic mastery of Kidou, Hakuda, Zanjutsu, and Hohou to graduate. However, if he thought back to Renji's abysmal attempts to fire a simple Hadou, he could understand where Onobara was coming from. It would have been hard for academy students to master all four areas before graduation.

Ichigo shrugged off the instructor's compliments. "So, is there a point to this?"

Onobara huffed. "You're a disrespectful brat, you know that?" Ichigo was perfectly aware. "Anyways, one year at the Shinigami Academy is required for all students. However, since your practical instructors have all reported your proficiency in all areas, you can take classes with upper years. Depending on where you place, you may graduate even this upcoming spring."

Ichigo's eyebrows rose. Huh. Well, he had been taught under the harsh and demanding hands of the best masters. Yoruichi had been a demanding Hohou instructor, Zanjutsu had come easily to him when accompanied with daily skirmishes and spars with Kenpachi, Kyouraku, and Shinji, Hakuda was practically drilled into his body (usually literally) by Soi Fon, and Kidou was fed with much caution to him by Tessai and Hacchi due to his penchant for blowing them up in their faces. Upon further thought, he really should have expected to be advanced to a higher class.

"You'll still have to continue learning your theory, but you've been grasping them easily so far. Personally, I think you're ready to graduate now, but rules are rules. You've got one year to polish your skills here. What do you think?" Onobara continued.

Five years shaved off of what should have been a six year curriculum. It was a tempting offer, and kami knew that Ichigo had to get out there and start making waves in the Gotei 13 to find out exactly _what_ he had to be changing in the past. Obviously, he'd have to stop Aizen's experiments, but the Soul King had also said something about making Seireitei accept change, hadn't he? That would have to mean accepting Hollows as well, accepting Ichigo's Hollow, and accepting Quincies.

That was somewhat a daunting task.

"Where will I get placed?" he asked, mind made up. He'd graduate early, scope out the political scenery. He knew nothing of politics himself, but it was better than sitting on his ass waiting for something to happen. He'd get to know people, make friends and allies, set up connections.

Or he could just plow through all obstacles with his usual aplomb. That was an option too.

"If you want, I'll test you against several older students, and depending on how well you do, we'll place you in an upperclassman section." Onobara cracked a smile, which Ichigo was sure was meant to be reassuring but only came out as somewhat terrifying, much like Kenpachi's smile. "What do you think?"

"…sure. Yeah, I'll do it."

* * *

"As expected of our Strawberry, huh?"

" _Don't call me Strawberry, bastard_."

It was the weekend, and Ichigo, Rose, and Love were all lounging in a teahouse that Ichigo had discovered on a street where Seireitei started blending into the Rukongai districts. It was a place that Shinigami could dawdle and where most souls worked to serve them. The stores here were specially catered to Shinigami, who didn't have to stray too far from Seireitei for anything that they needed.

"But you've always been ahead of me. I'm not surprised you're being offered a chance to advance several years," Rose said, guitar propped on his legs and strumming quietly. The teahouse owner looked like he had wanted to tell the musician to stop, but with one glare from Ichigo, the owner conveniently overlooked it. Rose hummed gently, following some melody that only he heard. "We'll certainly miss you, Ichigo."

"That's comforting," the smaller male muttered into his teacup. He inhaled the warm scent before sipping quietly.

"But what will we do without our scowly Strawberry around?" Love asked, waving his hand around as if to demonstrate exactly how bored he'd be. "Who's going to keep Rose company while he sulks from class to class and fails all his theory tests?"

"It's not like I'm leaving _forever_ ," Ichigo replied, thoroughly fed up with the dramatics. "I'm still in the academy, for kami's sake. Stop making it seem like I'm moving away forever."

Rose looked up soulfully from his fingers, which were plucking a forlorn tune. Melodramatic, the lot of them. Why exactly did Ichigo hang out with these people?

"But you will be gone in a year."

"That's a _year_ from now!"

And yet, the gentle bantering soothed Ichigo's nerves. When he'd entered the academy, he hadn't thought that he would hang out with Love and Rose, of all people. If Ichigo had had to guess who he would hang out with, he'd have guessed Shinji or perhaps even Kisuke. But Love and Rose? Those names would have been somewhere on the bottom of the list along with Lisa and Hacchi.

"A year is a short time, Ichigo. The time will fly on an eagle's wings, and soon, you will be drifting away from us, out of our reach while we-"

"Shut _up_ , Rose." Love slapped the back of Rose's head. "Come back down to earth."

"But what if he decides that the upperclassmen are so much cooler and decide that he's going to ditch us?"

Turns out that, below all that apathy and metaphysical pondering, Rose was also very flowery with language and excessively imaginative.

"I'll still hang out with you, you know that right?" Ichigo interrupted before Rose could get out of hand. He sipped his tea in an attempt to ignore the fluttering of appreciation at the fact that Rose and Love would _miss_ him, of all things, before reaching for a stick of dango and biting off the first ball.

"Dinner every weekend."

"Hm?" Ichigo asked, still chewing on his dango as he glanced up to Love's somewhat serious face. He had taken off his sunglasses ( _"Why do you wear them everywhere, it's not like the sun's going to blind you inside a building!"_ ) and was wiping them down with a napkin, but he had his dark eyes fixed on Ichigo.

"Dinner every weekend. That's our condition if you want to advance."

"Oi, why do I need _your_ permission to skip grades, huh?" Ichigo spluttered around his mouthful of food. He coughed and swallowed before taking another sip of tea to clear out his mouth.

"Because we're your friends, aren't we?" Rose asked carelessly.

Ichigo let out a gust of air and propped his cheek on his fist. He gazed outside, at the white walls of Seireitei and the blue sky.

"Yeah, I guess I am, aren't I?" He shrugged. "Fine. Dinner every weekend. Happy?"

And much to his embarrassment, Rose grinned as the tune he was playing to a decided turn for the cheerful. He hummed happily, and Ichigo wondered how he had evolved from a sullen, prideful Shinigami asking to do homework with him to a dramatic, manipulative bastard.

"Happy."

Ichigo buried his face in his hands to prevent either of his companions from seeing the creeping blush on his face. Love's laugh indicated that they'd caught it anyways.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review about your opinions.**

 **Sincerely yours,**

 **haplessgrapefrut**


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